


I am a fragile one (and you are the white in my eyes)

by burnitbackwards



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b, Based on a Tumblr Post, Derek isn't giving up, Episode Related, I have a dream, M/M, Nogitsune Stiles, and that dream will likely not be realized in the actual episode, so fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnitbackwards/pseuds/burnitbackwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> The disconnect could be devastating, if he let it. </i>
</p>
<p>One of the many ways the fight scene could potentially go down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am a fragile one (and you are the white in my eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> I did a thing because Sterek. 
> 
> Based on [ these gifs](http://kira-yukimura.tumblr.com/post/77778256714), which are from the mid-season trailer. Title is from Keaton Henson's [ '10 AM, Gare du Nord'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M8f9sMxzdFM&feature=kp), aka one of my official Sterek songs for 3B.
> 
> I do not own Teen Wolf. If I did, the scene in question would go down a little something like this, but since that isn't likely to happen, I'll settle for fic. Written on my phone because I couldn't get the idea out of my head. Completely unbeta'd.

The figure standing in front of him isn’t Stiles, not really, and he can tell from the grim resignation on Chris’s face, the tremulous note to the Sheriff’s breathing, that they can sense it too.

The nogitsune may be wearing Stiles’ skin, but it doesn’t _know_ him. It holds the lean lines of his body too stiffly, lacks the constant currents of energy that vibrate just below the surface. The angles are too sharp, the exuberance muted. Mouth twisted cruelly, too pale, too dark behind the eyes. It doesn’t seem surprised to see him there - looks strangely delighted that he could join the party.

It’s instinct to call out to him, to entreat “Stiles”, even if he wishes it had come out a bit stronger, a little less pleading.

"Stiles isn’t in right now", it answers. "Can I take a message?" The mocking is something he’s become familiar with when it comes to Stiles, but it’s lacking the teasing warmth that had begun to creep into their exchanges just before he’d left with Cora.

It makes him angry, _furious_ that this _thing_ would steal Stiles’ face, wear his skin, but try to erase everything that makes him Stiles - everything that makes him painfully, beautifully human. Stiles had never wanted this, never wanted to be anything but himself. Had confessed as much during the desperate days when it was just the two of them, negotiating a tenuous truce as they’d searched for Boyd and Erica.

"Stiles", he tries again, stronger now that he has his anger to anchor him. "You have to fight it, Stiles. Just a little longer."

The nogitsune laughs, pleased with the chaos. “It’s a little late for that now, _Derek_ ”, it tells him. His name sounds strange in that voice, the cracked lips shaping around it oddly. The disconnect could be devastating, if he let it. “But that’s just like you, isn’t it? Too little, too late. Always letting people down.” The sharp zing of pain the words ignite in him only strengthens his resolve.

"Stiles, listen to me. This time _I’m_ the one who isn’t letting go, okay? I won’t.” He knows that Stiles, whatever little part of him is left, will _get_ it. Will remember chlorine, and fear, and desperate survival.

The shift in Stiles’ face is blink-and-you’ll-miss-it quick, a shadow of his usual expressiveness, but as bright as the sun for the way the familiarity of it settles something in Derek’s heart.

"Derek? I - " It’s soft and confused, hard to hear over the pounding pulses of the others in the room, and it’s cut off sharply, ruthlessly when the nogitsune snatches back control. It’s enough.

He’s still surprised by the sudden twist of Stiles’ body, the feeling of being thrown through the air and into the wall, propelled by a strength Stiles shouldn’t have. The impact hurts, but it also feels a bit like victory.

He hears the others around him shift, a bit more determined now, a little less hopeless, and thinks _Just a bit longer. This is why I’m not letting you go._


End file.
